


Salir

by Batsutousai



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-10-08
Updated: 2005-07-03
Packaged: 2017-11-05 22:14:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 7
Words: 15,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/411576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batsutousai/pseuds/Batsutousai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thrown back in time by Lord Voldemort, Harry must adapt. Who should he befriend, and fall for, but the man who sent him back in time himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Polski available: [Salir](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10365462) by [Lampira7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lampira7/pseuds/Lampira7)



> Beta'd by magickmaker17
> 
>  **Disclaim Her:** This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

“Oh, shit...” was all Harry Potter managed before the curse hit him and he disappeared.

§ § § § §

It would later be attributed to the dumb luck of the Potter line: The curse Lord Voldemort had cast was supposed to send Harry back before his birth, killing him as he aged backwards; fifty-five years was an extremely long time for a seventeen year old, but Voldemort thought it humorous to send the Boy-Who-Lived back to the time of the almost seventeen year old Dark Lord.

Of course, nothing with Harry Potter ever went the way it was expected to.

And it was a very confused seventeen year old Harry Potter that appeared on the front steps of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the early morning light of September 2, 1942.

Harry Potter felt extremely grateful when it was a young Albus Dumbledore who found him.

Then he saw how Dumbledore was looking at him.

Harry wished this was all just a bad dream.

Damn.


	2. Chapter One – The Arrival

"So, you're from the future?"

The black-haired youth groaned, " _Yes_. That's what I've been trying to tell you."

"And you were thrown here by a Dark Curse?"

" _Yes_."

"You'll have to excuse me if this is a little hard to believe, my dear boy."

"Oh, _no_. I can _totally_ understand." Lack of sleep and too much stress coloured Harry's voice with heavy and cruel sarcasm, which was aimed at the only other person in the room, Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore impaled the boy with an annoyed silencing look, which Harry returned with a defiant glare.

Dumbledore sighed and wove his fingers into his auburn beard. "Well, until we find a way to send you back, I suppose you'll have to attend school here…"

"Of course." Harry sneered.

"Which means you'll need a name."

Harry sighed. He'd refrained from giving out his name, so as not to cause a paradox. "I don't know…"

The two wizards fell into a contemplative silence, trying to think up a name for the boy.

Then someone knocked on the door.

Dumbledore got up to open the door. "Headmaster."

"Ah, Albus, just the man I was looking for!"

Harry frowned. The voice of Armando Dippet was extremely hard to forget.

"I'm somewhat busy, Armando," Dumbledore said politely.

Dippet looked in and spotted the boy sitting moodily in a plush chair that was too big for him. "And who's this?"

"Salir Cobre," Harry said quickly.

"His parents are old friends of mine that would like him safely away from Grindelwald. I know it's last minute, but might we enrol him?"

Harry watched Dippet crumble. "I don't see why not. He'll have to be Sorted, and we need to know what year to put him in..."

"I'm in seventh year," Harry interjected coldly.

"Watch how you address your elders," Dippet replied. "I'm Professor Dippet, Headmaster here at Hogwarts, by the way."

"You need to be more polite," Dumbledore agreed. "Long trip or no."

Harry scowled.

§ § § § §

Harry hadn't been all that surprised when he was placed in Slytherin. He was currently standing in front of the Great Hall while Dippet introduced him.

"...so if you'll please all make Mr Cobre feel at home here at Hogwarts, I'm sure this year will be a success for everyone," Dippet finished, then pointed the Slytherin Table out to Harry among the scattered applause.

Harry sat in a chair at the end of the table by himself and gave the food dark looks. After another summer of near-starvation (partially self-inflicted), the emerald-eyed boy didn't have much of an appetite. In fact, the food on the table in front of him was even making him queasy.

A cold man with short-cut, deep brown hair and obvious 'potion hands', as Ron would call them, walked along the Slytherin Table, handing out schedules. He stopped at Harry last, empty-handed. "Welcome to Slytherin, Mr Cobre. I'm your Head of House and Potions instructor, Professor Brakens. As you're new, I'll be partnering you with our top student and Head Boy, Mr Riddle, to help you out." Brakens motioned to a pale-skinned, raven-haired, teal-eyed Slytherin, who then came over. "This is Tom Riddle. Mr Riddle, please help Mr Cobre around."

"Of course, Professor." Tom Riddle smiled disarmingly.

"Good. He'll be sharing classes with you for now. Professor Dumbledore seemed to think that was the best while he's still getting acquainted with the school." Brakens' tone said how little he thought of the Transfiguration teacher.

"I get the feeling that whatever Professor Dumbledore says around here, goes," Harry murmured, still trying to work past his slight fear, anger, and annoyance at being stuck with the younger version of the wizard who had been trying to kill him since before he'd been born.

"Professor Dumbledore is a highly respected wizard," Brakens replied tightly.

 **:If a tad insane,:** Tom muttered in the low hiss of Parseltongue.

Harry smirked secretly. "All respected people are either insane or fake, as far as I can tell."

Tom blinked in surprise before narrowing his eyes dangerously at the newest Slytherin.

"You two will get along brilliantly." Brakens sighed and left, shaking his head.

Tom sat next to Harry. "Do you have any books?" he inquired coldly.

"Professor Dumbledore mentioned something about borrowing books..."

Tom groaned. "Fine. When you're done, we can run by the library quickly before our first class."

Harry shrugged and stood. "Right then. Off we go."

Tom frowned at the clean plate before Harry's seat, but also rose from the bench and led Harry from the Great Hall.

§ § § § §

The first class was Advanced Transfiguration with Dumbledore, which contained seventh years from all of the Houses.

"Let's see what you have all remembered from last year. You'll each find that you have a cup in front of you. Please turn it into a mouse. Mr Cobre, if you could please come up here, I'd like to see what all you know."

Harry rolled his eyes and stood, idly transfiguring his cup into a mouse before stepping up to the teacher's desk. Dumbledore barely hid a smile while Tom picked up the mouse to look it over critically. The other students paused to glare at the new student before getting to work themselves.

"Well then, Mr Cobre. I see you can transfigure cups into mice."

"Obviously."

Dumbledore sighed, but said nothing about the boy's perpetual bad attitude. "Did you take your OWLs a couple of years ago?"

"Yes. I got an E. Why?" Harry forced himself to tone down on his attitude slightly. Angry Albus Dumbledore was really quite scary.

"You must have had a good teacher."

"I suppose…" Harry shrugged, mentally adding, _'But I wouldn't know since I learned everything from Hermione later…'_

Dumbledore smiled and had Harry do a few test Transfigurations before sending him back to his seat next to Tom, obviously pleased.

Tom was busy changing his tea cup into random animals and back again, bored. When Harry sat back down next to him, it was an orange turtle.

Harry rolled his eyes and pointed his wand at his mouse, which Tom had apparently stunned, to change it into a garden snake.

Tom turned to glare at his partner, but found the other boy immersed in his Defence text.

"Cobre, are you just going to let your cup wander?" Tom asked as the snake found its own way onto the ground to search around.

"It's harmless. I figure I'll let it eat someone else's cup before I change it back," Harry replied tartly.

"It's not big enough to eat a mouse."

"Should I make it bigger, then?" Harry glanced up from his textbook curiously, catching Tom's gaze for the first time that day.

Tom bit back a gasp. The emerald gaze was intense, to say the least. He felt that the new student could see right through him, something only Dumbledore had ever made him feel before. Within the green orbs there was a lifetime of pain and suffering. This boy seemed to have faced many of the same things Tom himself had faced. It startled him.

Harry looked away, feeling uncomfortable with the way Tom had been staring at him with his unreadable teal eyes. "Never mind."

Tom changed his orange turtle into a black cat and started petting it idly, watching as the green-eyed boy returned to his book.

A female shriek from the back let everyone know where the snake had got to. Harry snorted and changed the snake back into a cup with a bored flick of his wand before, once again, returning to his book.

Tom and a few other Slytherins smirked, Dumbledore smiled, and everyone else just glared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, there's a story behind the name I gave Harry, and I'll now explain it, for your enjoyment:
> 
>  
> 
> _Salir Cobre was merely me trying to come up with a snake-like name.  
>  Salir started with an "s" and I thought it sounded cool. I just pulled it from the top of my head.  
> Cobre was me messing with "cobra". As far as I know, it's just that, made-up.  
> I later found out that "salir" is a Spanish word that means "to leave". My mum said it probably would never be used as a name, but I was just shocked that it fit the story so well. Hence, I titled the fic that._
> 
>  
> 
> There, the famed history of Salir. (And, yes, I know 'salir' means things in other languages. As does 'cobre'. :) )
> 
> Oh, and, starting next chapter, I'm going to be calling Harry "Salir," just so you know. I'll put it at the beginning of next chapter, too.


	3. Chapter Two – The Budding Friendship Continues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised to put this here. From here on out, I'll be calling Harry "Salir". That's for the rest of this fic, you understand. *grins*

The rest of his classes followed the same pattern as Transfiguration, each professor making sure the new student could perform in their class. Salir managed to prove himself well enough in all his core classes: Transfiguration, Potions, Charms, and Herbology. History of Magic was studying things he'd gone over back in his sixth year, so he spent the class getting caught up in Runes, which it appeared he'd also be taking with Tom, and that he barely proved he could do. He nearly tested out of Defence Against the Dark Arts, to the surprise of everyone else, but stayed in the class because he said he could always learn more.

It was after class, while they were in their common room, that Tom pulled Salir over to a shadowy corner to talk.

"You do know it's kind of difficult to avoid me when we sit next to each other in every class, but I'll give you an Outstanding for effort," Tom said sarcastically.

Salir snorted. "Don't get me wrong, Riddle. I just don't like people."

"You should have been in Ravenclaw, then, with all your books."

"And why aren't you there? You _like_ being the only halfblood in Slytherin?"

Tom's eyes got a murderous look in them as they narrowed as his year-mate. "Watch your mouth, Cobre. You don't know anything about me."

"I know more than you think. In fact, I'll bet I know more about you than you do," Salir replied coldly.

"That's not possible," Tom hissed.

"Anything's possible, Heir or no," Salir shot back before pushing past a shocked Tom to return to their dorm.

Tom turned around suddenly and hurried after the other black-haired boy.

§ § § § §

Salir glanced up as the door locked behind Tom Riddle. A very furious Tom Riddle.

Salir smirked. "Did you need something?"

"What the hell are you playing at, Cobre?" Tom growled, hiding his fear about possibly being found out behind his anger at Salir's assuredness.

"Why, nothing. I'm merely giving the proper respect to the murdering Heir of Slytherin."

Tom leveled his wand at Salir, not put off in the least by the innocent air. "You won't be saying that to anyone else."

Salir pulled out his own wand and pointed it back at Tom. "I do believe I know a counter to every hex or curse you might use. And, if you were to use something 'Dark', Dumbledore will find out. I don't think you want that."

Tom narrowed his eyes, but had to admit, if only to himself, that Salir had a good point. Then he realised something. "Dumbledore sent you to watch me, didn't he?"

"Probably." Salir shrugged and leaned back against his bed's headboard, wand hand holding his wand in his lap loosely. "He's always doing things like that. It drives me nuts, but you learn to live with it."

Tom frowned and lowered his own wand, keeping tense, just in case. "You don't like Dumbledore, then?"

"I don't like the way he manipulates things to his advantage," Salir clarified lightly, closing his eyes in total relaxation.

"But you like him as a person." Tom sat on the edge of his own bed, curious. Most people he talked to either totally hated Dumbledore or loved him no matter what. He, himself, fell among the former.

"I understand most of his reasonings, and I guess I like him as a person, but I'm always wary about trusting him." Salir shrugged again. "What about you, Mr Riddle?"

Tom snorted. "I don't like him. He assumes without facts and is too wild and extreme."

"And he didn't save you from the orphanage?" Salir asked carelessly, remembering something Voldemort had let slip once.

Tom froze.

"Sorry!" Salir exclaimed, eyes shooting open as he realised he'd over-stepped the bounds of the near peace they'd had. "I have that Gryffindor tendency to say stupid things without thinking. I didn't mean to be rude."

"Could have fooled me." Tom stood and started towards the door.

"I started out wanting to hurt you, but I didn't mean to that time! Don't leave angry!"

Tom paused, shocked that anyone actually _cared_ enough to want him to stay, and glanced back at Salir, meeting his gaze. The emerald eyes shimmered with honesty and sadness. Once again, Tom was shocked with the intensity of the other's eyes.

"I don't have any friends here, and I've never been good at making them," Salir admitted sadly, breaking the silence that had fallen over the room as Tom stared.

"Are you asking to be friends?" Tom asked disbelievingly. _No_ one wanted had to be his friend. Ever.

"I don't know." Salir watched his own wand as he shifted it back and forth between his hands, a habit he'd picked up from Voldemort after their many drawn-out meetings. "You're the only person who's talked to me like a normal person."

"Slytherins are not known for being polite or friendly, especially to those who surpass them." Tom snorted.

"I know that." Salir shrugged, eyes still on his wand. "But I didn't expect them to be as rude as they have been."

Tom rolled his eyes. "You've bested almost everyone within the first week of classes. They're used to me, but no one knows _anything_ about you. They hate it."

"Joy. They hate me because I'm smart." Salir groaned, burying his face in his hands. "What idiots."

Tom settled himself on the edge of Salir's bed nervously. "What are your friends at home like?"

Salir blinked up into curious teal eyes. "Well, there's my two best friends… You probably wouldn't get along with them too well."

"Really?"

A faint smile pulled at Salir's lips. "Well, one's Muggle-born, the other's a pureblood Muggle sympathizer."

Tom twitched. "No, we wouldn't get along."

"My Muggle friend, ‘Mione, is all booky. She's always studying. Always trying to get us to do our work. She and my other friend, Ron, started going out in sixth year." Salir's face fell.

Tom winced sympathetically. "Love always ruins everything," he said, thinking of his own parents.

 _‘Not Harry! Not Harry! Please-- I'll do anything—‘_ Salir nodded, throat tight. "It does."

They remained silent for a long time.

§ § § § §

"If we're late, I'll kill you!" Tom hissed angrily as he and Salir left the common room.

Salir rolled his eyes and followed Tom through the dungeons. He was trying to decide if showing the other boy a secret passage would be worth the questions later.

"Dammit! We're going to be late!" Tom cried. "How could you lose your wand?"

"Okay, shut up." Salir grabbed Tom by the back of his school robe and pulled Tom through what looked to be a solid wall that led to a secret stair. The taller boy's constant complaints had decided his actions for him. _‘Damn my Gryffindor half…'_

"How–?"

"I said, shut up."

Tom glared at Salir's back as the green-eyed boy led them up the stairs and down a dark hallway. It opened out down the hall from the History classroom, their destination.

They slid into their seats just as the bell rang and Binns walked into the classroom. The man made himself at home with the podium, then started speaking in a monotone.

Tom turned to Salir, who was reading a Restricted book. "Cobre, how did you know about that passageway?"

"Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs," Salir replied flippantly, not looking up from his book.

" _Who_?"

"Some adult friends."

"Cobre–"

"Riddle, I am trying to read this and I would appreciate it if you would shut the hell up."

Tom grabbed the book out of Salir's hands and pulled it away, noting the spell that Salir had been reading about was on time travel.

Salir glared at him. "Riddle, hand me back my book before I hex you."

Tom smirked, glad, for once, that they were in the back of the classroom and had an idiot for a teacher. "Why are you reading up on time travel? Planning on going somewhere for extra credit?"

"Give me back the sodding book," Salir demanded, wand suddenly poking Tom's side.

Tom scowled and handed the book back over.

Salir returned to his reading.

§ § § § §

"Anything?" Salir asked as he sat before Dumbledore's desk.

"I haven't found a thing."

"Bloody hell."

"Language."

"That would be English."

"Ten points from Slytherin."

Salir scowled.

"Are you sure you can't remember the curse used?"

Salir shook his head helplessly. "No. I'm _really_ not good with my Latin."

"You said, what, fifty-five years had passed?"

"Yes."

"We may not have a spell yet that will fix everything."

Salir's head hit Dumbledore's desk with a ‘thunk'.

Dumbledore smiled. "So, how's Mr Riddle?"

Salir glanced up, one eyebrow cocked at the older wizard. "Did you set me up to keep an eye on him or something?"

"Perhaps."

"Figures." Salir snorted. "He's fine. Rather rude, at times, but we get along well enough."

"That's good."

"Why don't you trust him, Professor?"

"What makes you think that?"

Salir gave the man an annoyed look that said he didn't think, he _knew_.

Dumbledore twitched. "Speaking of Mr Riddle, might he be wondering where you are?"

 _‘No,'_ Salir thought viciously. Out loud, he agreed, "Probably is. Let me know if you find something, Professor." He stood.

"Of course, my dear boy. Have a good day."

"You too, sir." Salir left the office and scowled. **:Bastard,:** he hissed in Parseltongue, a habit he'd fallen into when talking to himself to make people leave him alone at school. **:Nothing changes in fifty-five years.:**


	4. Chapter Three – Love Always Ruins Everything

He nearly smacked himself when he realised that he was staring again. _'Idiot! Stop staring at him! Good looking or not, you know he's not interested in you! Get over it already!'_

"Trouble?" Salir glanced up from his work.

Tom jumped, startled. "Nope."

Salir frowned. "Riddle, what's _wrong_?"

Tom shook his head and quickly looked back down to his work. _'Bad Tom!'_

Salir rolled his eyes. "Look, I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong."

"Can't fix it anyway," Tom muttered.

Salir snorted. "Why not?"

Tom frowned at the other Slytherin. "Nothing."

Salir smirked suddenly. "Riddle, do you have a crush on a girl or something?"

"Bah…"

"Or is it a boy?"

"Cobre, shut the hell up."

"It _is_ a boy!"

"Cobre!"

Salir sat back in his seat, a satisfied smile aimed at the Heir of Slytherin. "You don't have to tell me who. I don't care, in fact. Just, why don't you ask him out? To the Hallowe'en Dance, perhaps?"

"No!"

Salir snorted. "You, Tom Riddle, are impossible."

"Shut up, Cobre."

Salir shrugged. "Right then." He returned to his book work.

Tom returned to staring as inconspicuously as he could.

§§§§§

"Where'd Riddle go?" Everet Malfoy asked as they were all getting ready for the Hallowe'en Dance.

"Maybe he's trying to find a date for once," Blant Black sneered.

Salir rolled his eyes at their immaturity as he slipped into the school robes he'd transfigured into emerald green dress robes. He spelled his hair waist-length and added blood-red highlights. His scar, which had been mostly unnoticed so far, had been lengthened magically to slip over his nose, glowing with the sickly green light of the spell that had created it.

Blant frowned as he caught sight of Salir. "Great Merlin, Cobre! How'd you manage that?"

Salir shrugged. "You'd be surprised how easy it is to do slight effects like this."

"Who are you going with?" Everet inquired with a cold smirk.

"No one." Salir shrugged.

"Then who are you trying to impress?"

"Much as it might surprise you, no one. I am merely dressing for myself," Salir shot back, annoyed by the interrogation. His green eyes flashed dangerously at the two Slytherins before he turned and left them.

§§§§§

Tom easily spotted Salir. He thought the boy gorgeous in the emerald robes and with his long hair, if not a little girlish.

Tom, himself, had gone the monster route. He'd transfigured his skin to feel scaly, his nose snake-like, moth lipless, eyes silted like a cat's. His hair had fallen off during the transfiguration, much to his disgust, but he'd covered the baldness with the hood of his imposing black robes. The other students, he couldn't help but notice, kept their distance.

Salir, however, was everyone's favourite dance partner, and Tom was, slowly, getting jealous – a feeling which he'd never felt before.

 _'Love always ruins everything!'_ a part of his mind screamed.

Tom pushed the thought away and petrified it as he stepped over to where Salir sat with a group of girls who didn't have dates, or who's dates had left them for others. "Cobre, might I have this dance?" Tom inquired, voice scratchy and accompanied by a slight hiss.

Salir spun, eyes widening. "Merlin, Riddle! You near gave me a heart attack!"

Tom frowned in annoyance. "How'd you know it was me?"

"Creepy personality?" Salir shrugged. "It would be better with red eyes."

"Red?"

"Like blood," Salir agreed.

Tom blinked a few times and his eyes faded into the deep red colour of blood. "There."

Salir shuddered. "Perfect."

"Go away, Riddle! You're creeping us out!" one of the girls, a Hufflepuff, shouted.

"Dance?" Tom requested of Salir again, as if he'd never heard the girl.

Salir grinned. "It's been fun, ladies," he offered the girls before holding up a hand for Tom to take, which he did.

The two stepped out on to the dance floor among angry squeals.

"I have to thank you," Salir commented as they lost themselves in the crowd of students, dancing easily to the music.

"Oh?"

"Yeah. I can't stand those girls. I was, in fact, tempted to _Crucio_ the lot of them after five minutes of their chatter."

"You? _Crucio_ ing people?" Tom snorted.

Salir rolled his eyes. "Yes."

"I can't see it."

"It's very different over in Germany than it is here."

"Okay, but an Unforgivable?"

"Just shut up and dance, Riddle."

§§§§§

"So, what do you think about the creepiest monster in the school dragging the most stunningly pretty guy out of here?"

"Feeling anti-social?"

Tom smirked and nodded over to where a few girls from the group Salir had been sitting with earlier were headed for their table. "Or, I could just hand you over to them."

Salir groaned. "Kidnap me then, great snake."

Tom rolled his eyes, but forced Salir to stand and dragged him from the Great Hall without further comment.

"Now, where to?"

"Astronomy Tower?"

Salir blinked a few times. "Dungeons."

"Deal, but not the common room or dorm."

"Empty classroom?"

"Perfect. Come on." Tom turned and led a silent Salir down to a room he knew of that no one else used or went near.

§§§§§

"Hey, Cobre?"

"Hmm?"

"What's your family like?"

"They died when I was one."

"Oh."

"Why?"

"Orphan's curiosity."

"I got dumped with my aunt and uncle."

"Hmm?"

"After my parents died, I got dumped with my aunt and uncle. They hate me."

"Idiots."

"Yeah. I suppose."

"I hated it at the orphanage. They all hated me because I was different."

"What a stupid reason for hating someone."

"Yeah."

There was a long silence filled only with the soft drip, drip of water and shifting cloth.

"It's my birthday today."

"Hallowe'en?"

"Yeah. Kinda."

"Kinda?"

"It's the birthday they gave me at the orphanage."

"It's a Slytherin sort of holiday. Works well for you."

"Thanks."

"Sure thing."

There was another, much shorter, pause.

"Happy birthday."

"I suppose."

"I would have gotten you something, had I known."

"You can't buy what I want."

"And what might that be?"

Tom muttered something inaudibly.

"Once more, and louder."

"A kiss…"

Salir smiled and stepped over to where Tom was leaning against the wall, eyes watching the ground at his feet as if it were the most interesting thing in the world, hood hiding his gaze. Salir tipped the hooded boy's face up so he could meet his eyes. "Happy birthday," Salir whispered before covering Tom's mouth with his own.

It was very odd to kiss when one of the participants had no lips, but it didn't stop either young man for long. Salir pushed all thoughts of the future Voldemort from his mind, though they loomed closest with Tom looking as he did. Tom pushed all his questions of the raven-haired youth from his own mind, though they threatened to drown him. Tom slid his arms around Salir's waist and pulled the other even tighter against him as he slid his tongue along Salir's closed lips.

Salir opened his mouth to the seeking tongue and wasn't as surprised as some might have been to find that Tom's tongue was forked in his Voldemort guise. He gave the snake-like tongue a chance to explore him before pulling back for some desperately needed air.

Tom groaned and rested his head on Salir's shoulder. "Please don't let this all be a dream."

"No dream," Salir promised. "And I _did_ tell you to ask me out."

Tom chuckled. "I hadn't thought you'd realised."

"Riddle, you spend every moment we're together _staring_ at me."

"Do not."

"Oh, you hide it well, most of the time. I'm just more aware than others when it comes to being stared at."

Tom sighed. "I should have guessed something like that."

Salir smiled and hugged Tom tightly. "I'm used to people staring at me, but I've never really liked it before. I was surprised that I didn't mind it so much from you until I realised that I fancied you.

"You _should_ be stared at. You're beautiful."

Salir blushed. "Thanks."

Tom pulled back and smirked. "I finally got you to blush!"

Salir smiled. "I wasn't aware it was so hard."

"It's nearly impossible, actually. I don't think I've ever seen you blush."

Salir thought about that. "I suppose you're right."

"I think it's cute."

Salir blushed again.

Tom laughed.

"Prat," Salir said with a scowl.

"Why, thank you."

Salir's scowl deepened.

"Don't scowl."

"Make me."

Tom's scarlet eyes gleamed hungrily before he freed a hand and pulled Salir's mouth up to meet his again. This time, when Tom's tongue got into Salir's mouth, it was met with the other's tongue and they danced a sharp dance for dominance.

While their tongues did battle, Tom let the hand that was not holding Salir's waist tightly to him slide down Salir's chest, teasing buttons open.

Salir groaned and forced his mouth away, ending the duel. "Riddle?"

Tom smirked as a thin, pale, scaly finger slid over a tanned chest. "Yes?"

"What are you doing?" Salir's voice was slightly shaky.

"Opening my present."

"Riddle-"

"Shut up." Scarlet met emerald and Salir's breath caught. "What?"

"I– nothing," Salir whispered, eyes not leaving Tom's. _'You remind me of your future self, except that, instead of hate in your eyes, I see lust and it caught me off guard,'_ he answered mentally.

"That doesn’t look like nothing." The snake-like boy sighed.

Salir's hand reached up suddenly to slip Tom's hood down.

Tom froze. "Cobre, what are you doing?" he whispered as Salir's hand stroked the back of his head softly.

"Just like a snake." Salir smirked. "Proper."

Tom scowled. "Think I look funny, Cobre?"

"Never." Salir's expression softened. "It's rather fitting, really, with the way you've always pushed everyone else away. Don't you think?" He ran a soothing finger down Tom's jaw line. "Nobody but me can see the beauty beneath."

Tom smiled at that and Salir couldn't help but note how it changed his whole face, lighting it up. "There's no beauty in me. You must be seeing things."

"No, no, dear snake. I can see the beauty. Perhaps you're just not looking deeply enough into yourself."

Tom cocked an eyebrow at the other wizard. " 'Dear snake'?"

"Don't you like it?"

"I suppose."

Salir smirked. "Good, because that's what I'm calling you."

Tom laughed.

"Weren't you unwrapping me?"

Tom paused. "You'll let me?"

Salir nodded cautiously. _'Who wants to die a virgin, after all?'_ he couldn't help but think rather bitterly.

Tom felt the heart he could have sworn had frozen over years before clench at the sharp undercurrent of pain in Salir's expressive emerald eyes. _'I want to find the person who hurt you so deeply and make them pay for it in their own heart's blood,'_ he thought furiously as he calmly let a finger slide down Salir's bare chest.

Salir shuddered and glanced up into the cat-like scarlet eyes. The lust within them had become somewhat dulled by a fierce protectiveness. Realising that the protectiveness was for him, Salir cursed his far-too expressive eyes.

All thought of curses flew from the raven-and-red-haired wizard's mind as Tom's mouth gave his neck a soft kiss before biting down, hard. Salir fought to bite back a moan even as he tipped his head back to give the Dark Lord-to-be better access to his throat. Salir's eyes fluttered shut at the other took the offering viciously.

Tom shifted them so that Salir was against the wall to, once again, give the hair-less teen use of both his hands, to rid the red-and-black-haired boy of his robes.

As Salir's robes slipped to the ground, Tom took a step back, enjoying the thoroughly kissed look almost as much as he found himself enjoying sliding his eyes down the other's lean and toned frame.

A few old scars caught Tom's eye and he ran a finger over one lightly, hand shaking in fury.

Salir snapped back into reality and swallowed at the murderous look in the other teen's eyes. "Riddle?"

Tom's eyes snapped back up to Salir's face. At Salir's flinch, he seemed to recall that the wizard before him wasn't the object of his fury and softened his gaze, though his voice was firm when he spoke. "Where did you get all of these?"

"Various places," Salir replied edgily. "I'm sure you have some too."

Tom nodded. He did have his own fair share of scars from the orphanage, and he wanted to talk about them and how he'd gotten them about as much as Salir appeared to want to talk about his own. "Point." He closed in on Salir again, forcing down his anger at what or whomever it had been that had hurt the other so, resting his hands on the other's bare hips and pressing against him firmly.

Salir ran a finger gently along Tom's jaw again. "Either I'm underdressed, or you're overdressed," he informed the scarlet-eyed boy.

"Are you telling me to do something about that?"

"Perhaps."

Tom gave Salir a chaste kiss and a sharp pinch that drew a hiss from the elder boy before pulling away to disrobe himself. Salir leaned against the wall nonchalantly as he trailed his eyes over the white-as-snow flesh revealed to him.

Tom's mouth curled into a sudden smirk. "You know, Cobre, you look good with long hair."

"I look like a bleeding girl," Salir replied, still memorizing the young Voldemort, trying not to stare at his proud cock for too long.

"Exactly my point," Tom commented lightly, earning him a quick glare. "But I like it better long."

"Was that a hint?"

Tom stalked over to Salir and pressed the green-eyed wizard against the wall with his whole body, flesh against flesh. "That was no hint, Cobre. That was an _order_ ," Tom hissed in Salir's ear, forcefully rubbing their erections together.

Salir gasped as he was, painfully, reminded of his aroused state, which he'd, somehow, managed to ignore prior to then.

Tom's eyes gleamed. "Problem, Cobre?"

Salir sneered at the other young man. "Do your worst."

"Worst? I'm hurt."

Salir ground his hips against Tom, smirking at the hiss he got in response. "Your worst, dear snake."

Tom narrowed his eyes at the challenge. "Turn around," he ordered as he stepped back slightly to give the other boy some room.

Salir did as he was told, gripping at the uneven stones that made up the wall before him. Tom closed back in and, before Salir could even think, there was a spit-slicked finger in his arse. He tensed in surprise.

"Hush…" Tom's free hand rubbed over Salir's washboard stomach soothingly.

The green-eyed boy forced himself to relax against the wall, resting his forehead against the cool stones.

Tom kissed at Salir's neck and sent in a second finger to stretch the younger wizard. "I'm going to make you scream, Cobre. I'm going to make you scream so hard they'll hear you up in Gryffindor Tower."

"Better put up a Silencing Charm, then," Salir shot back easily.

"I'd rather they wonder." Tom smirked.

"Shall I shout 'Dumbledore', instead?"

"Too many syllables." Tom laughed as he pulled his fingers from Salir and quickly slicked up his weeping cock with spit.

"Perhaps."

"Ready?"

Salir peeked over his shoulder and into caring scarlet eyes. "Just do it, Riddle."

Tom's mouth curved into a chilling smirk as he leaned forward to kiss the soft pink lips before him. Salir kissed back desperately, eyes closing, as he felt the scaly cock begin to enter him. It wasn't quite as painful as he'd feared it would be.

"Merlin," Tom hissed against Salir's lips once he was in as far as he could get at that pace. He noticed the other's clenched eyes rather suddenly. "Cobre?"

"I thought I told you to do your worst."

"You're serious..."

"Move that dick, snake-face," Salir offered, opening his eyes with a cold smirk.

Tom snorted. "You asked for it."

Salir laid his head back against the wall, bracing himself. Without any warning, Tom slid out of the tight space before slamming back into the slighter boy against the wall. Salir's only response was a whisper of a gasp and Tom narrowed his eyes.

"Is this supposed to be your worst?" Salir asked dryly.

Tom let out a growl and started to slam in and out of the green-eyed boy roughly, creating a pattern, of sorts.

With a slight shift in Tom's stance, Salir's prostrate was hit. Hard. The smaller teen let out a sharp cry, vision shot through with bright lights, while Tom smirked triumphantly.

"Louder," Tom hissed into Salir's ear as he reached around to run a scaly finger along the other's cock, which had been hitting the stone wall periodically. The abuse only appeared to be making Salir harder.

Salir bit back to urge to scream and merely offered, "Harder," as his response.

Tom happily complied, ramming into Salir both harder and faster while aiming to make the other see stars of pleasure. At the same time, scaly fingers and their long nails ran along the neglected cock.

Gasps and quiet, strangled cries came from Salir at each action, spurring Tom on, until...

"Oh, Go– _Riddle_!" Salir's head fell back onto Tom's shoulder as he cried out in ecstasy.

Fingernails bit into Salir's hips as Tom came with a gasp, barely managing to force his own scream back. He leaned on Salir, pressing him against the wall, as they both spent time to catch their breaths.

"Sle–"gasp"–ep," Salir managed after a long moment.

Tom had to agree and, with a wave of his wand, their robes had made themselves into a bed, of sorts. Leaning on one another for balance, they stepped over to the cloth and fell onto it carelessly. Salir allowed himself to be wrapped in long pale arms and pulled against the snakeskin chest of his new lover.

"You know, Cobre, you make for one very good fuck," Tom commented idly.

"But, let me guess, I didn't scream loud enough?"

"Bingo."

Salir rolled his eyes in exasperation. "I'll try harder next time, then."

A pause, and then:

"Good."


	5. Chapter Four – No Chance To Say Goodbye

_'I have no clue what to get him...'_

Salir stared down the High Street oh Hogsmeade blankly. He and Tom, after much debate, had agreed to get one another Christmas gifts. Salir, of course, had no clue what to get his lover that the future Dark Lord would enjoy.

_'A weapon of some sort. It's just the sort of thing...Voldemort...would use...'_

Salir sighed to himself helplessly and walked purposefully to the little village's weapons dealer.

"May I help you, young man?" the man behind the desk asked as the door closed behind the black-haired customer.

Salir shook his head. "I'm just looking for right now," he offered before walking among the different weapons of destruction the little shop offered.

His hair, kept long on Tom's orders, caught on something and Salir turned to free it, annoyed, when he saw **_it_**.

A cool green hilt with one shining emerald inlayed at the top. The sheath dotted with emeralds and diamonds, made of silver.

Salir had seen the dagger before. Voldemort had given him yet another scar with it in his sixth year. It was a scar Tom was fond of tracing between shags or before they fell asleep.

"How much?" Salir asked, feeling the shopkeeper's eyes on him.

"One hundred galleons."

Salir winced, but pulled out his change purse anyway. He was glad he'd taken to carrying a couple hundred galleons on his person after the failed attack on Gringotts in his sixth year. Dumbledore had given him _some_ money, yes, but it was, really, only enough for some sweets.

As the money changed hands, so did the dagger. Salir slipped into into the pocket and left the shop with a smile. He headed back towards the school, totally ignoring the candy and prank shops.

_'I have the perfect card idea!'_

§ § § § §

"Done!"

"With what?"

The thin box slipped into Salir's pocket as he turned to smile innocently at Dumbledore. "Nothing of any significance, sir. Did you need me?"

"Yes. My office, please?"

"Of course! No where I'd rather be!" Sarcasm.

Tom smirked as he watched his lover follow Professor Dumbledore. He'd got rid of any lingering respect Salir might have had for the coot ages ago.

His curiosity spiked, Tom silently followed his least favourite professor and his most favourite student. _'What could Dumbledork possibly want with Salir?'_

An ear to the professor's office door allowed Tom to hear everything.

"Now, Professor, what did you need me for?"

"I have found a way to send you back, my dear boy!"

_'What?!'_

There was a long pause before Salir answered, his voice hesitant. "I...see..."

"So, we'll send you back now!"

" _Now!?_ " Salir squeaked. If Tom hadn't been so shocked, he would have been amused at the thought of Salir _squeaking_.

"Of course! No time like the present!"

"...Right..." A slight shuffle of cloth. "Give this to Riddle. It's his Christmas present... and... tell him I'm sorry?"

"Of course!"

"Don't!" A bang.

"Oops..."

"Didn't your mother ever teach you _not_ to touch that which is meant for others?"

"Probably..."

Salir snorted.

"Where'd you learn to hex the gift to only prank those who weren't Mr Riddle?"

"Secret." Tom could just _hear_ the smirk.

"Very well..." A chair's movement. "Back you go."

"Ready."

Tom froze at the note of mixed fear and pain in Salir's voice. _'Where's he going?! What's he have to fear there?! Why doesn't he want to go?! Cobre!'_

In desperation, Tom turned his wand on the door and ran through every spell he knew that could open doors. When none of them worked, Tom felt like crying.

Then, the door opened. "Ah, Mr Riddle. I do believe this is for you." Dumbledore handed over the box, skin bright green, before closing the door in Tom's face again.

Tom gaped at the door stupidly for a long moment before turning his gaze to the box in his hands.

It was wrapped in silver paper with green snakes slithering across it in random patterns. The message on the card was written in Salir's perfected scrawl:

> _'I know you'll find a way to use this,  
>  Like on your greatest of foes.  
> But always think twice before you dig in,  
> Could this be your one-time friend?'_


	6. Chapter Five – Burdened Home

Grass. His fingers grasped the real-life thing tightly in both hands. He was dazed from yet another long trip. A trip through time that he desperately hadn’t wanted to make. It hurt like nothing he’d ever been faced with before.

“What have we here?”

Salir Cobre, known also as Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, snapped his head up with a speed that belied he weariness and found himself face-to-face with none other than Lucius Malfoy. Hogwarts rose up behind the blonde in all its majestic beauty. The shadows dancing across it were the only signs of the outcome of the war Harry had been throw from.

“Lost, boy?” Lucius sneered.

It took Salir a second to realise that, with the long hair and a Notice-Me-Not Charm cast upon his telling scar, Lucius had no clue who he was.

Lucius growled, patience gone, and pointed his wand at Salir. “Up. Let’s go. I’m not in mood for dumb mutes. You’re going to my Lord.”

Salir got up slowly and let Lucius lead him into Hogwarts at wand-tip. He found he was only mildly surprised that Hogwarts had fallen, but strangely uncaring. _'Have I changed so much that I no longer care about the place I once called home?’_ he wondered sadly as Lucius came to a stop outside a plain wooden door. The Death Eater knocked sharply, wand still trained on his prisoner.

“What?!” Voldemort’s voice shouted through the wood. To Salir's ears, the man sounded severely stressed and on edge. Experience told the teen that now was _not_ a good time to bother the Dark wizard.

Lucius didn’t appear to know any better. Or maybe he just didn’t care. “My Lord, a boy appeared on the lawn. I thought you might want to check him out.”

The door clicked open. “Come in, then,” Voldemort said in a tone that Salir recognized as controlled anger and the teen had to hide a smile.

Lucius forced Salir in ahead of him and the teen kept his head down. “This is the boy, my Lord.”

There was a shatter of glass as Voldemort stood abruptly. His scarlet eyes were laced with shock that was out of place. “Great Merlin… It can’t be…”

Salir glanced up into the eyes of the monster he’d fallen head-over-heels for in another life, green eyes glinting with amusement. “Oh, no, I should hope not. After all, if I were me, you’d have to be you, and we just can’t have _that_.”

Much to the shock of Lucius, and the joy of Salir, Lord Voldemort, ruler of the Wizarding World, _laughed_ at the boy’s rudeness.

“My Lord?” Lucius asked carefully, as if talking to an insane man, which he was, really.

Voldemort mellowed rapidly. “Lucius, you are dismissed.”

“Of course, My Lord.” Lucius left after bowing, silently fuming.

As soon as the heavy door had fallen shut and locked automatically, Voldemort threw up a Silencing Barrier, then turned to Salir, who was smiling faintly. “I’ve missed you.”

Salir’s smile faded as he spoke. “I’m sorry.” His gaze fell to the ground at his feet. “I couldn’t tell you. It might have created a paradox.”

Voldemort had used the time that Salir spoke to step into the space before the teen and then used the following silence to tip Salir’s head head up with a single, pale finger, scarlet eyes shining with love. “Shush. I don’t care.”

Salir shook his head and took a step back, refusing the caring touch. “Riddle, who do you think I am?” the teen asked abruptly, eyes shot through with sadness.

“What?” The confusion looked as out-of-place on Voldemort’s white-skinned face as lust had fifty-five years ago.

“Who do you think I am? In this time? This place?”

“I don’t care.”

“You should.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Stop that!” Salir smacked away the hand that was inching towards him again before turning his wand to himself. “ _Revelio_!”

Voldemort froze as the lightning bolt scar came into view in the centre of Salir’s forehead. “I should have known…” he whispered, voice low and dangerous.

“One minute, you’re trying to get me into bed, the next, you’re back to plotting my demise. Make up your bloody mind for once, dear snake,” Salir hissed coldly.

“Don’t...” Voldemort took a fortifying breath. “Don’t call me that, Potter.”

“ _Don’t call me that, Potter,_ ” Salir mocked, hiding his hurt behind rude anger. “Well guess what, _dear snake_ , I spent almost two months calling you that fifty-five years ago and you didn’t give a damn back then.”

“That was different.”

“How?!” Salir’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “How was it okay for me to call you ‘dear snake’ before and not now? Can you answer me that?”

“It just is.”

“ _But always think twice before you dig in, Could this be your one-time friend?_ ” Salir recited coldly before spinning and stalking from the room.

Voldemort leaned back against his desk wearily as the door slammed shut. _'Tom, you idiot. Every bloody sign… Who else did you tell your greatest secrets? Who else has those green eyes and that lightning mark? How bloody stupid can you get?!’_

§ § § § §

Salir was stalking through the halls angrily. _'How dare he?! Bastard!’_

“Who are you?!”

Salir’s head shot up and green met silver. “Malfoy. Wonderful.”

“Potter?! You’re dead!”

“ 'Fraid not. So, tell me, Malfoy, what happened to the rest of the students?”

Draco Malfoy paused only long enough to glance around the hall before his gaze met and held Salir’s once again, this time dead serious. “Dungeons, but there are guards.”

“Snape?”

“Free.”

Salir let out a breath of relief. “Good. Can you get me down there?”

“They’ll recognize you,” Draco pointed out.

Salir waved his wand at his forehead and his scar disappeared. “Call me Cobre. The only other person who has seen me has been your father, and, as far as he knows, I’m Voldemort’s friend.”

“I don’t know how you managed it, and, personally, I don’t really care.” Draco groaned, rolling his eyes in a very un-Malfoy-like fashion. “Come on, then. With any luck, Sev’s today’s guard.”

Salir fell into step with Draco easily, his hands rapidly signing a question that hadn’t been safe to ask aloud: 'The Order?’

'Captured and mostly killed,’ Draco’s hands responded smoothly.

'Dumbledore?’

'Dead.’

“Wonderful,” Salir hissed sarcastically.

Draco snorted in agreement as they started down the dungeon stairs. “The guard should be at the bottom of the steps,” he whispered, since it was too dark in this part of the castle to sign reliably.

Salir nodded sharply, not really caring if the blonde saw him or not.

“Who’s there?”

“Sev.” Draco let out a breath of relief at the sight of the black-haired man with the crooked nose and the cold eyes.

Severus Snape cocked and eyebrow at his godson and the other with him. “Who is this?”

Salir smirked. “Salir Cobre.” His hands signed, 'Harry Potter,’ as he spoke.

Snape’s eyes widened for the briefest of moments before his normal emotionless mask slipped back into place. When he spoke, his tone was laced with boredom. “And why are you two down here?”

“Cobre wants to look over the prisoners,” Draco explained calmly.

“And what does Mr Cobre plan to do?” Snape inquired. Salir decoded the question to truly mean, 'Did he plan on setting people free?’

“Merely look.” Salir shrugged. “Nothing more.”

Snape nodded. “Draco, watch him.”

“Of course. Cobre, this way.”

Salir fell in behind Draco this time and let the blonde boy lead him through the dark, labyrinth-like corridors to the spot that had been created to cage the students and staff of Hogwarts that were against the Dark Lord. Salir could _smell_ the pain and hate before they reached the first cell and he had to ask a question to keep it from consuming him. “Why did he let them live?”

“I guess he’s hoping for allies.” Draco shrugged. The unsaid 'Or he’s making examples out of them’ hung in the air between the two young wizards heavily.

Salir silenced to stare at the first cell they’d come upon and felt his stomach rebel at the sight. About twenty people fit in a cell should have only held fifteen. Their clothing was ragged and littered with holes. Each person was no larger than a skeleton, skin clinging tightly to their bones. They were clean – obviously Voldemort saw it fit to make sure they got showers occasionally – and they must have been getting some food and water, since they were still alive. Salir’s hands balled into fists at his sides, nails digging into the flesh of his palms, and he schooled his face into an emotionless mask. Some of these people would not take kindly to pity, he knew.

“Malfoy, you bastard! Come to poke fun at us?!”

Salir’s head shot around around and he stared at the cell his Gryffindor friends sat in. Ron was at the bars, ever angry, while the others huddled together in a corner, watching the visitors with sad gazes.

“Oh, stuff it, Weasel.” Draco snorted. There was the slightest of twinges in the Slytherin’s voice that said he’d never 'poke fun’ at any of those in the cages. He derived no pleasure from their plight, for once.

“Bring a friend, too?” Ron snarled.

“Ron, enough,” Hermione’s tired voice begged.

“No!” Ron shouted at the brunette before he turned back on the visitors. “Get out of here! Tell that bastard to just kill us all already!” Ron screamed at Draco and Salir. A roar of agreement followed this proclamation from the stronger students in the other cells.

“I’ve seen enough,” Salir hissed tightly to Draco, fighting tears.

“Kill?” Voldemort appeared from a shadow. “No, no, Mr Weasley.”

Draco spun and bowed lowly to the Dark Lord. The students and teachers shrunk back against the walls of their cells. Even Ron seemed to have lost his spunk once faced with nightmarish man who held his fate in his spidery hands.

Salir turned angry emeralds on his once-lover. “Let them free, Riddle,” he ordered coldly.

“Would you like to join them, Cobre?” Voldemort shot back mockingly.

“Sure. Let me suffer through your version of that _orphanage_.”

Voldemort flinched, then aimed his wand at the black-haired teen. “You _will_ regret that.”

“Going to kill me, Riddle? Think it will finally work?” Salir sneered. “What was it you once told me? Ah, yes. 'Love always ruins everything.’ What a joke you made, Tom Riddle!”

Then Salir spun around and stepped into the cell that opened for him. Voldemort flinched again as the metal gate slammed shut behind the young man.

Emerald orbs met scarlet. “Lock up your heart, then,” he whispered to the Dark Lord before turning to sit with the Gryffindors.

Voldemort left in a storm of fury, the shadows once again swallowing him up as the danced to his anger.

“Cobre?” Draco asked softly as he stood.

“Go on, Malfoy. I’m where I belong now,” Salir responded softly. 'Tell Snape the same,’ he signed.

“Very well.” Draco left without a glance back at the green-eyed teen, though Salir could tell Draco wanted nothing more than to join him in the cage. It was where he, too, belonged.

“And who the fuck are you?”

Salir glanced up at Ron wearily. _‘Never change, Ron.’_ He sighed mentally before blocking out the red-head and closing his eyes in hope of sleep.


	7. Epilogue – A New Age

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This wasn’t supposed to be as long as it is, but I decided the ending I had wasn’t final enough. It left too much up in the air, too much unsaid. That was fine, originally, but, then again, originally there was supposed to be a sequel, which didn’t work out, so I’ve changed the ending a bit. Hopefully it’s much more final.

Macnair glared at the cells that lined the walls of the dungeons around him. “Salir Cobre?”

“What?” A teen with long black hair glanced up. He was easy to spot, since he was secluded from his cellmate’s groupings for warmth.

“My Lord requests an audience with you.” Macnair had thought that an odd way to tell a prisoner to come along, but he’d been told that Cobre was no normal prisoner.

“Tell him to get off his lazy arse and come to me,” Salir replied coldly.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me. Now bugger off.”

Macnair stared stupidly at the teen, who looked like he was going back to sleep, for a long moment before spinning and leaving to give the boy’s response to Wormtail.

Salir rolled his eyes. _‘Lazy sod.’_

§§§§§

Voldemort frowned at Salir’s cellmates from the shadows he was hiding in. _‘How despicable! Leaving him to freeze down here!’_ he thought angrily before recalling that he was supposed to be furious with Salir for making him travel down to the dungeons.

Voldemort slid out into the torchlight, scarlet eyes narrowed dangerously at the Boy-Who-Lived. “Potter!” he shouted, refusing to use the fake name the teen had once used, in an attempt to distance himself.

Many eyes snapped up around the dungeon to look for the boy they’d once thought dead.

“Don’t call me that,” Salir murmured, eyes still closed. If he felt the weight of all of the stares on him, he didn’t show it.

“Get up,” Voldemort ordered.

“Make me.”

“Now, Potter.”

“I said–” green eyes opened to gaze at the Dark Lord challengingly, “–don’t call me that.”

“And I said,” Voldemort shot back mockingly, “get up. How about we compromise and you just get the hell up. Potter.”

Salir snorted and closed his eyes again. “How about, no.”

A sudden thought occurred to Voldemort and he shot a venomous glare at the other Gryffindors in Salir’s cell. _‘What if they haven’t been giving him food?’_

Ron glared back at the Dark Lord, strengthened by the revelation that the stranger in his cell was, in fact, his best friend. “What the fuck do _you_ want?”

“Ron!” Hermione gasped in horror as Voldemort levelled his wand at the red-head.

“For Merlin’s sake!” Salir groaned and pulled himself to his feet. “Put the fucking wand away, Riddle. Weasley, keep your mouth clamped shut before I glue it shut. You’re giving me a headache.”

Voldemort scowled, but put his wand away as asked, since Salir had finally done as requested. He also decided that, no, Salir did _not_ look good and there would be a price or two to pay for not sharing food.

The Dark Lord opened the cell door and looked pointedly at Salir, who was leaning heavily on the bars of the cell. “Come on.”

“No.” Salir scowled. “I’m not leaving this prison unless everyone else can.”

“You mean you _can’t_.” Voldemort clarified.

Salir shrugged nonchalantly. “What can I say? I don’t like the grub they’ve been serving here.”

“Liar.” Voldemort knew for a fact that they served at least one thing a day that Salir liked.

Salir rolled his eyes. “Let them free already.”

“No.”

Salir’s eyes flashed as his temper pulled free from the tight reigns he’d had on it rather suddenly. “This is a _school_ , Riddle, not a _holding block_! The children should be learning from _books_ , not _bars_! Get your men out and give them back Hogwarts. Put someone in charge you trust, if you must, but you _cannot_ leave humans rotting behind bars and expect them to _ever_ look at you with anything other than loathing. Taking away freedom is like taking away _life_ , except so much _worse_. You are slowly killing off that which you want so much to save, magic. So _what_ if they’re not purebloods? You’re not. I’m not. Does that make us any less important? Does that change our worth?

“As long as the people I grew up with are locked behind these bars, I cannot be free, Riddle. I suffer through them. I will leave this cell only when they can too.”

“Of all the… Cobre, you are not a martyr! Get your arse out here!” Voldemort shouted, finally losing his temper.

“You didn’t listen to a word I just said. Why am I not surprised…” Salir sighed, shaking his head helplessly.

Then, the teen fainted.

Voldemort groaned and stepped into the cell to get the teen. With Salir cradled safely in his arms, the Dark Lord headed towards the exit as the heavy cell door clanged shut behind him.

“Leave it to the Gryffindorks to kill off their saviour…”

§§§§§

Salir woke to the sterile smell of the infirmary and let out a groan. “I hate this place…”

“And let me tell you, Mr Potter, it’s not overly fond of you itself.” Madam Pomfrey came into Salir’s line of vision with a tired smile.

“Madam Pomfrey…” Salir breathed a sigh of relief.

“Drink this for me,” the mediwitch ordered, holding up a cup of potion, which Salir proceeded to take with a grimace. “Now then, You-Know-Who has orders to be told as soon as you wake. Would you like to wait for me to tell him, or just call him now?”

Salir sighed. “Call him now. If I argue with him while I’m not all here, I might have a greater chance of winning.”

Madam Pomfrey chuckled. “I must admit, I was a little surprised when he carried you in here,” she said walking towards the door to her office.

“He’s Lord Voldemort, ruler of the known magical world, and he can do whatever he damn well pleases, even if it confuses the hell out of the rest of us. Idiot,” Salir grumbled, rubbing at his forehead. He wasn’t the least bit surprised to find that his Notice-Me-Not Charm was gone.

Madam Pomfrey came back out into the main ward, shaking her head and obviously fighting a smile. “Only you would insult him out loud.”

“Hey, I’m just making up for the silence of everyone else.” Salir shrugged. “How long have I been out?”

“Two and a half days.”

“Wonderful.”

The infirmary doors shot open before Harry could ask another question and Voldemort strode in, Wormtail scurrying in behind him. “Idiot!” the Dark Lord growled at the boy in the bed. “You complete and utter idiot! What were you thinking, starving yourself like that?!”

“I was doing your job,” Salir shot back coldly, in no mood to be yelled at.

Voldemort froze, glaring at Salir furiously. Wormtail and Madam Pomfrey watched on nervously as an oppressing silence fell over the two powerful wizards.

“Why do you care, anyway?” Salir finally said, breaking the silence.

“Who said I give a damn about you?” Voldemort bit back.

“I did, of course.”

“Potter…”

“ _Potter_ …”

“Are you mocking me?”

“Quite fun, yes.” Salir smirked. He knew exactly how to set the man off. “Any way, it does you good to be mocked. Humbles you.”

Scarlet eyes narrowed dangerously. “Excuse me?”

“It _humbles_ you, Riddle. Puts you in your place.”

“I should kill you for that.”

“Well, that was a waste of Madam Pomfrey’s potions.”

“You unmanageable brat!”

“ _Now_ you sound like Snape.”

“I’ve had it with you!”

“ _Give us back our school, Tom!_ ” Salir shouted suddenly.

Voldemort scowled, but silenced.

“Anything, okay? I’m offering whatever you want for control of this school to return to the teachers. That’s all I want here,” Salir said softly. “Name your price. Name your school master. Change the staff if you must. Just give Hogwarts back to the community as a school.”

“You are asking for a hell of a lot, Cobre,” Voldemort responded as softly as Salir.

Wormtail and Madam Pomfrey continued watching the exchange, gaping at the proceedings in shock.

“What if my price is too high?”

Salir shook his head. “No price is too high when you’ve nothing to lose.”

“Really?” Voldemort smirked. “And if I wanted you as Headmaster of Hogwarts and your loyalty to me and me alone?”

Salir took a deep breath, well aware that his choice would damn him either way. “Then it will be made so,” he whispered, not meeting the Dark Lord’s eyes.

“Done. I expect you in the Great Hall in an hour.”

Salir bowed his head. “Understood…my Lord.”

Voldemort strode from the room triumphantly, Wormtail once again scurrying after him.

Madam Pomfrey turned back to Salir, who hadn’t raised his head from its submissive position. “Mr Potter?”

The teen buried his face in his hands and cried.

§§§§§

Madam Pomfrey led Salir to the teacher’s entrance of the Great Hall. The teen had been dressed in plain black robes with a black wizard’s hat. His hair was bound back in a black clip and his scar stood out on his pale forehead. His wand had been stored up his right sleeve, in case he needed it, which he didn’t think would happen, but his life had taught him to be prepared for the unexpected, if nothing else.

Madam Pomfrey opened the door and led Salir in. The noise of hundreds of students, teachers, and Death Eaters died down as they noticed the newcomers.

Voldemort stood, smiling coldly at the teen as Salir stepped up to the Dark Lord and the empty seat next to him in the centre of the Head Table.

Salir was well aware that he was expected to bow or show some other form of subservience, but his pride wouldn’t allow it, so he just stared at Voldemort challengingly, daring him with his eyes to call the teen on his actions.

 **:Always a challenge with you, isn’t it, Cobre?:** Voldemort inquired fondly in Parseltongue.

Salir shrugged. **:It humbles you, Riddle.:**

Voldemort snorted and turned his attention to the Hall. “Due to the _regrettable_ death of Albus Dumbledore,” he started, not sounding like he regretted it at all, “I have taken it upon myself to appoint a new Headmaster to this school,” the Dark Lord declared, scarlet eyes narrowing dangerously as his gaze travelled over the room’s occupants. “I expect Mr Potter to have your full respect and understanding. Or else.”

Salir scowled at the wizard next to him. “Thank you for that vote of confidence, Voldemort,” he shot at the Dark Lord, ignoring the sounds of protest at the sound of the forbidden name from their audience. Voldemort narrowed his eyes at Salir, which made the teen smirk before turning back to the Hall. “I hope to have his _lordship_ off Hogwarts’ grounds within the next week. Until then, you all have free days to reorganize from the hell we’ve all been through. For now, though, enjoy your meal!”

As Salir sat next to a scowling Dark Lord, the tables filled with food and the noise level rose again.

**:You insist upon being impossible.:**

**:Come now, Riddle, you know me better than that.:** Salir shrugged. **:You have given me Hogwarts and I will run it as I see fit. If that means kicking you and your men out for a feeling of normalcy, so be it.:**

**:Gryffindors.:**

**:Oh, you know you love me.:**

Voldemort just glared.

§§§§§

“Come in,” Salir called in answer to the knocking on his office door. He was sorting through the random papers and files that Dumbledore had left behind after his death.

“Headmaster Potter.”

Salir glanced up and smiled tiredly at Minerva McGonagall. “Professor McGonagall. Just Harry is fine. Won’t you come in?”

“And _I_ insist you call me Minerva. You _are_ my superior,” McGonagall said as she sat in front of Salir’s cluttered desk.

“Not by choice.” Salir leaned back in his chair, taking off his glasses to rub at his eyes. “What can I do for you, Minerva?”

“First of all, thank you. You’ve put a lot on the line to get us this freedom, from what I can see, and for that we are _all_ grateful.”

Salir nodded. “Of course.”

“Second, what is to happen to the resistance?”

Salir sighed, eyes trailing over to Fawkes’ empty perch next to the window overlooking the barren Quidditch Pitch. “I will neither help nor hinder any efforts in the school to take down the current government, as long as those efforts do not cause problems between myself and Voldemort. I will try and keep this building in peace with him, but I can do nothing about the people within the walls.” He brought his gaze back to McGonagall and the older woman almost flinched at the weariness she saw within the cloudy green orbs. “I have given my wand to Voldemort, Minerva. Consider me your enemy. What I learn, I am duty bound to report. Keep your secrets from me.”

McGonagall looked old and sad as she stood. “Good night, then, Headmaster.”

“Good night, Minerva. Pleasant dreams.”

Salir stared out the window long after McGonagall had left. _‘A new age has begun.’_

§§§§§  
^ Original Ending ^  
§§§§§

“Must you do that?” Salir enquired as the door slammed shut behind the Dark Lord.

“I did not agree to this, Potter,” Voldemort hissed furiously, holding up a bit of parchment.

“I could care less.” Salir gave the red-eyed man a severe look over the top of his glasses, setting down the quill he’d been writing with. “I will not have nothing but Death Eater professors, Tom.”

“I don’t want any of these ex-Order members on the staff!”

“And what shall I do? Fire them all? I don’t think so. I’m the only person who will offer them jobs right now, and they _need_ their jobs. Unlike me, they don’t have the money saved up to carry them peacefully through the rest of their lives.”

Voldemort slammed the parchment down on the desk in front of the Headmaster, ignoring the now upturned well of ink. “Absolutely not.”

Salir’s eyes narrowed as he righted the ink well, leaving the dark purple ink to soak into the top of his desk, which had been spelled to soak up spilled liquids by an earlier Headmaster. “How about we compromise, then? Half and half.”

“You’ll have a Death Eater as your Deputy,” Voldemort immediately ordered.

“It has to be someone I get along with.”

“They will have the power to veto any of your crazy ideas.”

Salir scowled. “Fine. How about Severus Snape.”

“A member of the extinct Order? I think _not_!” the Dark Lord disagreed.

“What harm can he do?” Salir hissed. “You don’t trust him?”

“No.” Voldemort tapped his chin thoughtfully, seemingly oblivious to the glare aimed at him from the green-eyed Headmaster. “My second-in-command.”

“Which is?”

“Lucius Malfoy.”

“Absolutely not!”

“Why not?” Voldemort scowled.

“He and I don’t get along.”

“You, Cobre, get along with _none_ of my people.”

“Not tru–“

“You get along with none of my people that I can trust to keep you in line,” the Dark Lord amended, leaning back and fixing Salir with a penetrating look. “Lucius Malfoy will be Deputy Headmaster. Who are you keeping on staff?”

Salir let out a hiss. “Anyone whom you’ve yet to kill.”

“No.” Voldemort said bluntly.

“Yes. Minerva McGonagall, Firenze, Pomona Sprout, Rubeus Hagrid, Sophi Sinistra, Severus Snape, and Poppy Pomfrey will remain on staff at Hogwarts,” the teen-aged wizard replied with forced calm. “This is not up for debate, Voldemort.”

The Dark Lord bared his serpentine fangs in anger. “And when they retire?”

“They pick their replacements,” Salir said coldly, meeting the scarlet eyes fearlessly. “And I already have someone coming to fill the Flying Lessons’ post, so you may not take that.”

“And who, Mr Potter, is coming for your precious flying?” Voldemort sneered.

“Oliver Wood.”

“Another ex-Order member, no doubt!” the Dark Lord spat.

“He’s neutral!” Salir shouted, eyes flashing, as he stood behind his desk so he could meet the Dark Lord’s gaze easier. “And you may _not_ pick someone to replace Muggle Studies since all the people you know are fucking incompetent!”

“I don’t even want Muggle Studies to be taught!”

“Wizards are not better than Muggles!”

“They are too!”

“They are not!”

“They are too!”

“They are not!”

A cough from the door ended the argument rather suddenly and both wizards turned to glare at the man standing in the doorway, the smile tugging at his lips seeming to be out of place. “What is it, Lucius?” Voldemort growled when the Death Eater didn’t speak.

“My Lord, I apologise, but Mr Oliver Wood is here to speak with the Headmaster,” Lucius said in a respectful voice, the smile belying his tone.

“Thank you, Malfoy.” Salir nodded stiffly to the Death Eater and swept out from behind his desk.

“This discussion is not over, Potter,” Voldemort said warningly.

Salir shot a cold look over his shoulder. “This argument _is_ over, Tom, and _you_ have lost. Hermione Granger will take over Muggle Studies,” he said evenly before leaving the office in a storm of black robes.

It took all of the will power Voldemort had to keep his mouth from dropping open in shock. Lucius wasn’t that lucky and he gaped down the spiralling stairs at the retreating back. A slam brought Lucius back to the present and his gaze shot over to where the Dark Lord stood, fist resting against the top of the Headmaster’s desk. The snake-like man’s face was twisted in fury, eyes alight with malice as he gazed out at the Quidditch Field where students flew around, laughing, using the free time that they had been given to sort themselves out again to play a favoured sport. The differently coloured robes and Muggle shirts and pants billowed in the wind as it whipped around the students. Long hair flew out behind the four girls playing while they threw a quaffle around. A glint of gold sent a young boy diving from above, another three boys following him, grinning. The peace the students radiated was deceptive, as was proven by the broken gazes and the silence when any Death Eaters or Voldemort came near. The only way to observe them was from a distance, anymore.

“My Lord?” Lucius murmured, flinching when the infuriated eyes turned on him. “Perhaps you should let Potter have his Muggle Studies. It’s a third year and above class, after all, not a core subject.”

Voldemort sighed helplessly and looked back out at the flying students as two more figures joined them, Salir and Oliver Wood. “You’ve been made Deputy Headmaster. I expect constant reports on everything in the school from you,” he said in a firm voice.

“Understood, my Lord.” Lucius inclined his head. “What am I expected to teach?”

“It appears you may pick.” Voldemort sneered. He held up a white hand and ticked the choices off on his spidery fingers as he named them, eyes never looking away from the dark figure on the Pitch that was flying circles around the other flyers, “Charms, Defence Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy, or Ancient Runes.”

Lucius made a face. “None of them sound much good, my Lord. Perhaps you can get Potter to add Dark Arts to the curriculum?”

Voldemort’s eyes turned to Lucius in surprise. “An amazingly intelligent idea, Lucius. I shall suggest replacing Defence Against the Dark Arts with Dark Arts.”

“With all due respect, I don’t think he’ll go for that.”

“He doesn’t have a choice,” Voldemort growled, glancing back out the window.

Lucius refrained from pointing out that Salir, supposedly, hadn’t been given a choice when it came to the staff or Muggle Studies, either. He liked his body pieces as they were, after all.

§§§§§

Voldemort glanced up at his visitor as the door to his Hogwarts office slammed shut. “Can I help you, Potter?”

“What makes you think I’d agree to this?” Salir enquired in a deceptively calm voice, holding up a letter which had been left on his desk.

“Do you have someone in mind to put in the Defence Against the Dark Arts position?” the Dark Lord enquired, smiling slightly.

“As a matter of fact, yes. He’s putting together some last minute things in Romania, then apparating here. I owled him two days ago,” the teenaged wizard replied coldly.

“Then you’ll have to tell him not to bother.”

“Maybe you should go fuck an erkling,” Salir shot back before spinning and storming from the room.

Voldemort’s mouth curled into a sneer and he slammed his fist down onto of his desk. “ _I HATE THAT BRAT!!_ ” he screamed at the empty office.

Outside, Poppy winced and hurried off to see if she could get the Headmaster to agree with the Dark Lord on _something_.

§§§§§

Salir scowled at the woman who stepped into his office. “What do you want, Poppy?”

The matron settled herself in a soft chair that sat before Salir’s desk and gave the teen a sharp look. “If you two don’t start agreeing on stuff, this school is going to collapse around our ears, Harry.”

“There’s nothing to agree with him upon, Poppy!” Salir cried, dropping the uncaring mask he’d set up for being around other people. “He wants to do one thing with my school and I want to do something entirely different!”

Poppy shook her head. “Harry, what you’re missing is the fact that he is now in control of the rest of the wizarding world. It’s nice that you’re trying to keep Hogwarts like it once was, but it’s just not possible. Something has to give on both sides. You’ve managed to get him to let you keep all of the staff and Muggle Studies. Now you need to let him have his way with something.”

“Like what?” the teen muttered, resting his gaze on the letter from the Dark Lord. “Destroy Defence Against the Dark Arts? Let Lucius Malfoy teach my friends how to perform the Dark Arts?”

“You cannot continue to think of the students here as your friends, Harry.” Poppy sighed. “You must look at them as students, for that is what they are.”

“Poppy, _I’m_ still a student! I never finished my seventh year and now I’m expected to run a school! I don’t know the first thing about _teaching_ , let alone running the whole damned _school_!”

“But you’re doing a marvellous job.” Poppy said soothingly, standing and walking around the desk to give the young Headmaster a hug, which Salir gladly accepted. “And you’ve got guidance, you know. You’ve got all these pictures of the past Heads to give you pointers, and all of the staff to help you out. I’m sure that you can get everyone to agree to teach you what you’ve missed, if you’d like...”

“I know, I know…” Salir shook his head. “I just...miss having my friends, and…I guess I miss being a student, too. I miss losing House Points and chasing the Snitch. I miss getting into stupid fights with Draco and rushing to get my homework done at the last minute…”

“You miss being a kid,” Poppy clarified.

“No, not really. I was never a ‘kid’, Poppy.” Salir glanced out at the Quidditch Pitch sadly. “I never thought I’d say this but, you know, I miss Professor Dumbledore.”

“We all do. He was a beacon of Light for everyone,” the mediwitch agreed.

“I suppose I should be filling his place, hm?” the young Headmaster said sarcastically.

“No one expects you to go around offering sherbet lemons to everyone, Harry.” Poppy chuckled. “However, you might change out of these dreadful black robes and start smiling again. That will give the students hope, at the very least.”

Salir gave the mediwitch a mischievous smile. “What do you think? A red robe with a gold hat?”

Poppy laughed and stood back, watching as the young man transfigured his robe and hat to the bright Gryffindor colours. “Much better. And you should let your hair down.”

Salir stood and pulled his hair clip out and let his waist-length black hair fall around him softly. “Do I look better with the longer hair?” he enquired rather suddenly, tugging on a long lock. “I mean, someone once told me I looked better with long hair, but I’m not so sure it’s proper for my current position…”

“Harry...” Poppy sighed and shook her head, smiling. “Do you like it better long, or short?”

“It makes me look like a _girl_ ,” Salir mock whined.

Poppy snorted. “That may be so, but what do _you_ like it like?”

The Headmaster blinked thoughtfully. “Long, I suppose. He was right about that…”

“He?”

Salir’s cheeks flamed suddenly, catching the mediwitch’s interest. “Ah, yeah. My boyfriend…”

Poppy folded her arms across her chest and gave the blushing teen a sever look. “Since when?”

“Eh? Hallowe’en…” Salir’s face fell. “Well, Hallowe’en fifty-five years ago. We don’t really get along anymore, I’m afraid.”

Poppy gave the young wizard an appraising look. “Perhaps he’s just too hard-headed to realise what he’s missing, hm?” Salir scowled at her. “If you’re feeling better, I’ll leave you to your work. Make sure you _compromise_ ,” Poppy added firmly before walking to the door and opening it to leave. “Oh! Good afternoon, my Lord.”

Salir’s face went as red as his robes and he groaned. _‘Holy fucking shit. He heard that whole thing! Harry, you **idiot**!’_

“It is looking better, isn’t it?” Voldemort agreed with Poppy’s greeting as he observed the blushing Headmaster with an amused look. “I can only hope it will be even better by dinner.”

“Ah, you and me both, my Lord.” Poppy nodded and walked down the twirling staircase calmly.

Voldemort stepped into the office and closed the door behind himself gently before leaning against it. “You know, I came up here to argue with you some more. I never thought I’d get such _enlightening_ information by eavesdropping on your little chat with Poppy Pomfrey,” the Dark Lord said lightly, examining his fingernails.

“Didn’t those morons at the orphanage ever teach you any manners?” Salir growled, fighting back his blush furiously.

“They tried.” Voldemort glanced up at the teen standing behind the desk. “Why wear _those_ colours, Cobre? You’re no Gryffindor.”

“I’ve never met a Slytherin martyr, so I _must_ be a Gryffindor,” Salir shot back coldly.

“Pity.” The Dark Lord sniffed. “We need to work this out. Today.”

Salir pursed his lips. “I’m not getting rid of Defence Against the Dark Arts, Voldemort.”

“And I don’t want to keep it. Herein lies our problem.”

The Headmaster glanced up at the supposedly sleeping portrait of Armando Dippet with a frown. “The wizarding world fell to you and your men because they did not understand that which they were fighting. If Hogwarts had taught Dark Arts, even if it was only theory, they would have had a better chance of fighting back.” He paused briefly. “At least, that was Professor Dumbledore’s reasoning.”

“You expect an uprising?” Voldemort asked harshly.

“There will always be uprisings. It’s against the nature of the world for humans to always agree with everything,” Salir replied in a monotone.

“Do you believe there is an uprising starting in this school?”

Salir gave the Dark Lord a tired look. “No, I don’t _believe_ there is an uprising starting here, I _know_ it.”

“Who?” Voldemort demanded.

Salir shook his head and dropped himself into his chair. “I cannot tell you.”

“You swore yourself to me!”

“Please don’t start yelling again.”

“I’ll yell if I want to!” Voldemort strode forward and leaned over the desk. “Who is planning an uprising, Potter?”

“I’ve already spoken to them about it, calm down,” Salir ordered in response, shooting Voldemort a sharp look. The Dark Lord just glared at him “I mean it, Tom.”

Voldemort let out an aggravated sound and threw himself into the chair Poppy had sat in earlier in a childish manner. “Stop fucking _humbling_ me, Cobre,” he muttered in annoyance.

Salir covered a smile. “I wish I had a camera.”

“No blackmail.” Voldemort shot the teen a furious look.

“Who said anything about blackmail? I just think you look cute.”

The Dark Lord groaned. “Why did I make you Headmaster again?”

“Because you needed someone with the balls to argue with you,” Salir mumbled thoughtfully. “And you needed me in a position where I wouldn’t start another war, and could prevent one from starting.”

Voldemort frowned at the young man in the Gryffindor House colours. “And I needed someone with brains in charge of this school,” he decided, shaking his head. “Very well, you may keep your Defence Against the Dark Arts, but it will be made a third year and up elective. Dark Arts will be taught by Lucius Malfoy as the seventh core class in its place.”

Salir sighed. “Acceptable, I suppose. Have you picked the Death Eaters to teach Charms, Arithmancy, and Ancient Runes yet?”

“Yes.” The Dark Lord pulled a sheet of parchment from his pocket and slid it across the desk. “Deren Beq will take over Charms, as well as become the Head of Ravenclaw House.”

“She was a Ravenclaw while she was here at school?” Salir enquired seriously as he looked over the parchment.

“Yes. Schuyler Slade will take over Arithmancy, since that’s about the only thing he’s good for, and I don’t need any more accountants than I already have. Varian will teach Ancient Runes.”

“A dwarf? I thought you were against non-humans.” Salir gave Voldemort a searching look.

“Did I say that?” The Dark Lord shook his head with a slight smile. “No, I don’t mind them. They make invaluable allies.”

“Very well. I don’t find anything wrong with this, I suppose.” The Headmaster set the parchment on top of a pile of more parchment stacked on the corner of the desk. “Is that all?”

“You want Miss Granger to teach Muggle Studies, correct?”

“Yes…” Salir agreed cautiously.

“Don’t give me that look. She hasn’t finished school yet. How are you planning on making that work?”

“We’ve already talked about that, actually. Since Muggle Studies is an elective course, it can go untaught for half a year, so Hermione can finish up her schooling before she takes over it.” Salir answered. “Why do you care?”

Voldemort let out a sigh. “You made a good point earlier. You were not prepared for your new position, and you’re not, technically, out of school yet. That would make it hard for anyone, I suppose.” He stood slowly while Salir stared at him in surprise. “I shall see you at dinner, then.”

“…Yes…” Salir nodded faintly.

The Dark Lord paused in the middle of the doorway on his way out and glanced back over his shoulder at the quiet Headmaster. “I still think you look better with long hair, by the way, Cobre. If you cut it, I’ll be _very_ disappointed in you,” he offered before stepping out into the stairwell and closing the door behind himself.

Salir smiled at the closed door. “What an arse.”

§§§§§

Salir stepped into the Great Hall for dinner to find everyone already in their seats. The students were, as always, shooting Voldemort looks that they appeared to think were sneaky. The Headmaster wanted to scream and found he couldn’t wait until the Dark Lord’s occupation of the school was over.

Salir stepped up to his seat next to the scowling Dark Lord and stood, awaiting everyone’s attention. Once he had it, he spoke: “Good evening, everyone. I’ve decided to give you a bit of an update on the new Hogwarts, which will start on January third, so you’ve got another two weeks to relax.” He smiled faintly and mentally cheered at the responding smiles from his audience. “You’ve all, no doubt, seen myself or Voldemort walking around in a cloud of anger lately? Yes? I thought so. We were fighting over your professors and classes.

“As it now stands, your teachers from before the school’s occupation will continue to teach, assuming they are alive. We’re not losing any more staff members, so you’ll still be seeing familiar faces in many of your classes. However, Professors Beq, Slade, Varian, and Wood will be taking over Charms, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, and Flying, respectfully. Professor Weasley, who will be here in a few days, will be taking over Defence Against the Dark Arts, which has become an elective for third years and above. Defence Against the Dark Arts has been replaced as a core class by Dark Arts, which is taught by Professor Malfoy, who is also the Deputy Headmaster. Professor Beq will now be the Ravenclaw Head of House, as well. Muggle Studies has been discontinued for this year and will return next year, taught by Miss Granger.

“Please bear with us for these changes and don’t start any fights with your new professors. I’m sure you all have some bad history and I understand that you may not wish to get along with them, but I need you to try. Look at it this way, if I can get along with Voldemort well enough to be able to agree on your classes and professors, I’m sure you can get yourselves to behave in your classes come the third.

“And, now that the lecture is done, let us all eat!” Salir sat and dishes appeared on all of the tables.

Voldemort turned to Salir with a frown as the young Headmaster got himself some bangers. **:Any reason why you felt the need to enlighten them as to what has been going on?:**

 **:I need them to trust me, Riddle. If they know what’s going on, they’re more likely to behave,:** Salir replied evenly. **:Think about it. They don’t have any choice in what happens to their school; that’s left to you and me to argue about. They may not be able to choose what’s happening in their school, but at least they’re being told.:**

 **:So you want the brats to trust you,:** Voldemort deduced.

Salir rolled his eyes at the man’s word choice. **:Something like that.:**

 **:Figures.:** Voldemort spared a slice of carrot and waved it at the Headmaster with a smirk. **:The brat would want the other brats behind him.:**

 **:Rude and no table manners…:** The Headmaster shook his head in amusement. **:Why am I not surprised?:**

 **:Because you know who I _really_ am,:** Voldemort hissed in Salir’s ear, letting his tongue flick over the other’s lobe.

Salir scowled at the Dark Lord. **:Is that supposed to be a good thing?:**

 **:Perhaps not,:** Voldemort conceded thoughtfully. **:But I think it might be to your benefit.:**

The Headmaster shrugged emotionlessly. **:Perhaps...:**

§§§§§

“You know, I never did give you a Christmas present all those years ago…”

Salir frowned up at the Dark Lord leaning against the doorframe of his bedroom, one hand searching for his glasses. “Happy Christmas to you, too. What do you want now?” he enquired as his searching hand found his glasses and set them on his face.

“To give you your Christmas present of course.” Voldemort cocked his head to the side slightly. “You still sleep in the nude?”

Salir scowled. “What of it?”

“Just making an observation, Cobre. Calm down,” Voldemort said soothingly as his gaze raked over the teen’s toned chest and flat stomach, lingering on each scar he saw. Now he knew where they came from, and he found himself almost regretting each mark.

Salir shifted under the sharp scarlet gaze uncomfortably. “Riddle?”

Voldemort’s mouth quirked up at the corners. “You’re as beautiful as I remember.” Salir drew in a sharp breath. “I was so upset when you left, you know. I followed you to Dumbledore’s office that afternoon, and I kept trying to hex the door open. The coot must have had some powerful locking spells on that door, because it just wouldn’t open. I couldn’t imagine what you might have feared so much about returning to your home back then...” The Dark Lord met the startled green eyes evenly. “I suppose I know now. You feared me, didn’t you?”

Salir swallowed. “Partially. I mean, I feared that you might kill me once you realised who I was, but I was more afraid of what you might have done to my home. What you _did_ do to my home.”

Voldemort nodded absently. “I’m not sorry, you know.”

“Riddle, the day you’re sorry about _anything_ is the day the Earth will plunge into the sun,” Salir replied dully. “You’ve never been sorry and you never will be.”

The Dark Lord snorted. “Probably correct.”

“Of course I’m correct. I’m Harry James Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived-And-Just-Keeps-On-Living.”

“Really? And here I was thinking you were Salir Cobre.”

Salir laughed at that and let himself fall back onto his bed, closing his eyes. “Idiot.”

Voldemort smiled at the younger wizard as he stepped over to the bed quietly. “Indeed,” he murmured, running a spidery finger down Salir’s jaw.

Salir’s eyes shot open and met the burning scarlet eyes above him warily. “Riddle?”

“You are saying that a lot, aren’t you?” the Dark Lord teased, letting his one finger travel down the centre of Salir’s chest and stomach to where the blanket lay, covering him.

Salir let out a sharp breath, watching as the Dark Lord’s finger drew the blanket down further. “Oh, Merlin...” he whispered, realising what the man wanted in a flash of recognition.

Voldemort smirked before leaning forward and capturing Salir’s mouth hungrily. The younger wizard responded in kind, seeming to be attempting to devour the elder man's mouth. The Dark Lord slipped one finger between Harry's lower cheeks to tease at the young man's pucker, smirking when he realised it was still rather stretched out. "Been using this lately?" he teased as he pulled away from the kiss, scarlet eyes glinting.

Salir rolled his eyes. "Oh, certainly. I just _knew_ you'd be coming to visit me today, so I made _sure_ I'd be ready," he responded sarcastically.

"Watch that tone," Voldemort replied, slipping two fingers into the Headmaster.

Salir let out a hiss. "What _is_ it with you and not using any proper lube?!"

"You scream louder?" The Dark Lord shrugged, scissoring his fingers inside the other. "Why not?"

"Why not indeed." Salir groaned, covering his face with one hand helplessly.

Voldemort smiled down at the teen's position, amused by the young Headmaster's hopeless air. He'd missed Salir's strange personality; he was the only person Voldemort had ever had sex with who could act as if there weren't something up his arse, even though his manhood was standing proudly at attention.

"Oiy. What are you smiling about?" Salir enquired with an air of annoyance.

"You," the Dark Lord responded, pulling his fingers from the teen. "Now, turn around."

"Always ordering me around." Salir snorted good humouredly as he turned around and got up on his hands and knees.

"If nobody orders you around, you get into trouble," the Dark Lord informed the Headmaster as he slid from his robes and got onto the bed.

"I blame it all on you," Salir assured the man with a smirk. The Dark Lord snorted, then, in one swift motion, buried himself to the hilt inside the younger wizard. "Merlin be damned!" Salir spat.

"Something wrong, Cobre?" Voldemort enquired pleasantly as he wrapped his arms around the teen's middle.

"A little warning wouldn't have gone unappreciated, you know," was the dry reply.

"So sorry," the Dark Lord said before starting to move within the other. "Now, remember, nice and _loud_."

"Fucker," Salir muttered before letting out a hiss as the man above him roughly twisted one of his nipples. "You're going to have to work harder than that if you want me screaming," he added in a bored tone.

"Sex with you is never boring," Voldemort said in amusement as he changed his angle. Salir's only response was a muted shout. " _Louder_."

"Harder," came the breathless response.

"Ask and ye shall receive." Voldemort smirked, speeding up as he used one hand to give the smaller wizard's cock a vicious twist, a pull, and another twist.

Salir let out a sharp cry and then he was coming, contracting muscles dragging his lover over the edge with him mere seconds later.

The two men fell to the bed in a heap, the Dark Lord on top of the Headmaster with his arms stuck under the younger man, clutching him to his chest in a desperate manner.

Salir was the first to speak, once he'd caught his breath again. "That was nice."

"You still didn't scream loud enough," was the faintly annoyed reply.

Salir chuckled. "Please tell me that wasn't what your were originally planning to give me for Christmas, dear snake."

Voldemort nuzzled at the tanned skin of the Headmaster's neck. "No. _Accio._ " A small box flew into his outstretched palm, which he then handed to the wizard beneath him as he rolled them onto their sides.

"Hm?" Salir took the box and popped it open, then froze, staring at the necklace within in shock.

"Well?" The Dark Lord poked his stomach impatiently.

Salir swallowed. "It's beautiful. Thank you, Riddle."

"Put it on, then," Voldemort urged, poking him again.

Salir managed a weak chuckle as he pulled away from the chilled embrace to sit up and put on the piece of jewellery carefully. The pendant was silver with delicate rose-coloured flowers twining around the letters "SC", which had been made by two snakes, one with green emeralds for eyes, the other with red rubies. Salir sat there for a moment, staring down at the delicate piece.

Voldemort slipped his arms around the young Headmaster and drew him back into his embrace. "What's wrong, Cobre?"

"I–" Salir paused for a brief moment, biting his lip, before speaking again. "I've never had anything this nice before."

The Dark Lord's grip tightened around the younger man. "We'll have to fix that, won't we?"

Salir smiled and relaxed against the serpent-like man holding him. "I suppose."

The Dark Lord chuckled faintly and he rested his chin on top of the other's head. "I had a question for you, actually."

"Oh?"

"Did you know that 'salir' was Spanish for 'to leave' when you picked it?"

"Yes." Salir let out a faint sigh. "It was symbolic of my presence back then."

"And is it still symbolic?" Voldemort enquired in a light tone, though Salir could detect a trace of fear.

"Not if you don't hex me again, it won't be," Salir teased, earning him a pinch on his bum. "Stop that. No, really. I'm planning on staying here."

"Good." The Dark Lord nodded. "After all, I still haven't figured out how to make you scream properly, right?"

"You're such a bastard." Salir snorted in amusement.

"And don't you know it."


End file.
